Page 40 of Broken Hearts of Sin

“Nothingmamma.”

We get to the bottom of the stairs, where my father is waiting at the end of the corridor, by the door. He has his coat in hand, in addition to both mine and my mother’s. We walk slowly towards him, and he’s beaming proudly at both of us like we’re his two prize cows. I try to smile back but I can’t.

I’m in too much turmoil.

All I can cling to is that my aunt will call me tomorrow to tell me when I can meet Father Lorenzo. That’s the only bright light in this disaster that is my life now.Papàhands us our coats and then opens the door for us. There’s a driver waiting by the back door of the giant SUV my dad uses for transportation. He opens the door for us and we get in.

Behind us and in front of us are two chase cars. Despite the truce, it seems my father isn’t taking any chances.

We drive for at least an hour up to the Hudson valley, where we turn in to the driveway of an ancient looking mansion overlooking the river. It resembles a medieval castle, except for the line of cars parked outside the door.

There’s a manservant at the entrance, holding a tray of champagne, and we each take a glass. I down mine in one go, definitely in need of the Dutch courage. The butler-slash-manservant leads us down a lighted corridor to a set of double doors. These are opened by two men dressed like legit nineteenth century footmen to reveal a large room, lit up by huge chandeliers, with an empty wooden floor surrounded by a bunch of chairs. Waiters dressed in black and white are flitting about with trays filled with hors d’oeuvres and drinks.

I feel as if I’m on a Bridgerton set.

This impression is enhanced by the large orchestra playing showtunes in the corner. My mother brings me to a stop just inside the door. I look at her quizzically.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” a booming voice says from behind me, making me jump in startlement. “Mr. and Mrs. Cardinali and their daughter Giada!”

I glance back to see a butler, grey hair, stiff posture, ridiculous top coat and bow tie, standing at the top step announcing us. Emerging from the crowd like a movie star, Patrizio Freccia makes his way towards us, arms spread out and smiling like a cat that caught the canary. “Welcome, welcome.” he says, shaking my dad’s hand and then my mother’s. Then his beady eyes are on me, and he grabs my arms, pulls me towards him and kisses both my cheeks. I can’t help scrunching up my face.

He lets me go, his cloying cologne leaving its smell all over me. I shudder in disgust but nonetheless paste a manic smile on my face and try not to look as nauseous as I feel. He grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor. The orchestra begins playing something slow but festive.

Patrizio pulls me into his arms and holds me close. I can feel his erection, hard and unyielding, pressing against my thigh. The urge to scream in disgust is almost overwhelming and the song is just never ending. A few more people join us on the dance floor and now I have to smile at them as well, looking like I’m enjoying myself.

I pray for the end of the dance so I can run out, find the nearest toilet and hide out in there for the rest of the night. A waiter passes by and I grab a glass of champagne off the tray, downing it in one go.

“Whoa there!” Patrizio says, “You don’t want me to think you’re a lush, do you?”

Frankly my dear, I don’t care.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down and smile wider. “Of course not.”

He slaps my ass, “You better not.” His voice is cold beneath the contrived jocularity and my heart shrinks at the thought of living with this forever. I think I’d rather die.

Where are you, Romano?

Finally, the dance has ended and I’m able to escape, telling Patrizio I need to refresh myself. He lets me go with one last slap on my bottom and I retreat hastily, stumbling down the corridors in search of refuge. A footman stops me at the end of the corridor. “Can I help you madam? Are you looking for something?”

“Can you point me towards the nearest bathroom?”

He beams as if I’ve given him a gift. “Of course. Right this way.” He begins to walk back the way I came, and I hesitate before following him. There’s likely a lady’s room close to the ballroom, but I don’t want to be anywhere near there.

“Where are we going?”

The footman stops, looking at me in confusion. “To the ladies’ room?”

“You don’t happen to have one that’s…” I shrug self-deprecatingly, “attached to, like a bedroom, do you? My feet are killing me.” I whisper conspiratorially.

“Oh, sure. Follow me.” He keeps walking in the same direction and then turns down another corridor I haven’t seen before. “This is the guest wing. Mr. Freccia had the beds made up for anyone too tired or drunk to drive home. You can use one of them.” He takes a key and opens one of the doors, swinging it wide before stepping back to let me in.

I smile gratefully at him even before I’ve seen the room, “This is perfect. Thank you.”

He nods to me and steps away as I enter the room and close the door behind me. It’s a cute space with a large four poster bed dominating the room.

There is an ensuite bathroom, and I peer inside to see a modern shower behind a glass door, and a marble countertop already supplied with a toothbrush, soap, and a small towel. Opposite the shower, across the room, is a toilet. Next to it is a stack of magazines and a large leafy plant in a white pot, separating the toilet area from the rest of the room.

I decide that this is a good enough base for me. I can just stay here until it’s time to leave. I even have a stack of magazines to read.

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